


Relief

by dahdeemohn



Series: When Worlds Collide [6]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahdeemohn/pseuds/dahdeemohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh off of his victory as the new WWE Heavyweight Champion, Dean evaluates an variety of sentiments that he's never had the liberty of experiencing before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how many interactions Dean and Sami will have on camera after this storyline, but I wanted to write something that not only celebrated Dean's victory, but also took their friendship into account given both of their experiences with interpersonal relationships in their industry.

Euphoria was not what Dean Ambrose experienced in Las Vegas on June 20th, 2016; it was relief.

Despite keeping an open mind about otherworldly entities and the unexplained, he wasn’t a spiritual person. The concepts of destiny or an afterlife or anything that brought comfort to those that sought something beyond the mortal coil never resonated with him. There was no certainty in prayer, no time to pause and give thanks to a so-called benevolent deity amidst the chaos of simply trying to survive on a day-to-day basis. Dean fought not as a career choice, but as a way to make it to the next sunrise, to keep his own demons at bay, and he owed no god praise for any victories that he himself secured.

Still, there were nights that he did not sleep, where he laid awake beaten and broken, just a shallow heartbeat in a human shell, and questioned purpose. The formation of The Shield had been the first time that he had really given it any thought, pondering if maybe there was more to life than biological instincts. The second time that he questioned purpose was after The Shield had crumbled, and with that his optimism. Beyond those two major moments, there were shining flecks of curiosity here and there in regards to what paths lie ahead, mostly extinguished when an opportunity that he fought tooth and claw over were pried away from his snarling jaws.

Dean watched in silence as his name plates were installed in the belt, lump in his throat as the title was handed back to him and he tenaciously cradled it, knowing full well that this may be the only night that he may view life from this peak, that already there were those in power that schemed to yet again take what he had earned and discount it as a fluke. Still, there was the relief he had that at long last his efforts had paid off, that he had a new item to his metaphysical resume that so few else could claim, that twelve long difficult years of unrest amounted to something worthwhile. While he proclaimed in an interview that he needed a drink, that was the furthest thing from his mind, for Dean already felt intoxicated after his victory and needed clarity. It would have also been rude for him to impulsively hit up the bar as he had invited Sami to crash at his place for the night, and the last thing that his friend needed after such a harrowing loss was to be around a vice that couldn’t be indulged in.

Sami had actually been the one to find Dean, and the two embraced before any words were exchanged. There was something so intense and genuine about the way that Sami enveloped another person, almost as though he was trying to transfer his inner warmth to the one on the receiving end of his affection; Dean noted what a contrast it was to previous friendships, where it was forbidden to engage in prolonged contact and something like “no homo” had to be exclaimed to assert that you weren’t weak or effeminate or whatever other bullshit insecure guys that rolled around oiled up and in their underwear needed to tell themselves before they sucked another guy off later that night. 

“Sorry for kicking you in the face earlier,” Sami started off, remorse in his voice, which startled Dean.

“Told ya before Zayn, you and I are-”

“I know, I know. ‘You and I are good’, I know. You say it all time. I wanted to apologize earlier, but you looked so lost in thought after the ladder match that I thought I’d hold off.” 

“Well I appreciate that, but we both knew that it was every man for himself. No hard feelings, OK?”

“Yeah.” Sami exhaled, then his eyes travelled to the title that was proudly perched on Dean’s shoulder, smile now overcoming his worried expression. “So uh, congrats champ.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Dean smiled back to match Sami. “I know you’ll keep me on my toes, though. Don’t think that I don’t see you with your big plans.”

“Guilty.” Sami laughed, but it was affectionate and without any malice or false pretenses. “But tonight’s not about that. Did you want to go to a bar? I can be the designated driver.”

“Nah, let’s head back to my place. I gotta bottle of whiskey back there that I can take a shot of, and we could both use some rest.”

“Alright.” Sami agreed, obviously not in any shape to protest the prospect of laying down after putting his body through hell and back. However, there’s no argument from Dean when Sami asserted that he drive them back to the apartment, and when he fiddled with the radio and stumbled upon a classic rock station playing “Hollywood Nights", he turned it up so that Dean can loudly belt out the lyrics with the window rolled down. The warm air that streamed through Dean’s hair and hit his flushed skin felt good, and it’s a moment that he wishes he could contain in a jar to revisit in the future for when times will inevitably be less than this.

They pulled into a visitor’s parking space, Dean checking to make certain that he still has the title on hand as if somehow it could have evaporated on the car ride over, and ascend a staircase that right then felt like a far more intense feat to conquer than any ladder. The title is yet again checked on before the door to the apartment is unlocked, and once entered they both almost immediately collapsed onto the couch.

“Shit dude, I did it.” Dean can feel himself decompress as the words leave his mouth, and an exhaustion unlike any kind he’s ever experienced had begun to settle into his bones. Along with all of the other unusual sensations that he has difficulty processing, there is another that feels the most alien and intrusive with its unfamiliarity, and he has begun to realize its name: contentedness.

“You did it.” Sami agreed with a yawn.

“You wanna hold it?” Dean asked, and Sami looked over at him with a mix of awe and apprehension.

“Is...are you OK with that?”

“Fuck yeah! Here.” Dean held out the title, and Sami took a moment before he laid a hand on it, looking at it and then back at Dean, then finally pulling onto his lap and gazing at it with reverence. In a voice that is low and full of only fondness, he stated, “That’ll be yours some day, y’know.”

“But it’s yours for now.” Sami responded as his fingers traced the large metal ‘W’.”You think Seth’ll invoke his rematch clause tomorrow?”

“‘Course he will. Roman’ll probably have some shit to say, too, I’m sure.” Dean recognized the venom in his words, but the adrenaline that coursed through his veins nullified any filters that were in effect. “And you know what? Fuck ‘im if he does. Maybe now that I’m standing at the top of the foodchain he’ll cut this ‘holier-than-thou’ shit and talk to me like I’m a goddamn human being again. Maybe he’ll even apologize.”

“You’ll probably have your hands full for a while with them.” Sami handed the title back over, his smile a little less than it was just moments before, a little more guarded, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

“What’s this? Why the face?” Dean gestured at Sami, who laughed in return.

“Nothing. It’s just...it’s been really fun the past few months, that’s all. Now you’re...iunno, ‘the man’ or ‘the guy’ or whatever new moniker you’ll adopt and I’m really proud of you.”

“I’m neither of those dipshits, I’m Dean Ambrose, Sami Zayn’s friend.” Dean snorted.

“Yeah, but we’re not even in the same league now.” Sami pointed out with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“C’mon, yer bein’ a real sap.” Dean retorted, still in disbelief that this was a conversation even being had, but Sami still didn’t seem convinced. “I ain’t gonna pull-”

Dean _was_ going to say that he wasn’t going to “pull a Roman”, but he recalled that Roman had said that nothing would impact their brotherhood just months ago, and stopped himself before he went any further with that statement. There was something wary about Sami’s expression, something that Dean had only seen once or twice when they had first started to get to know one another, and it was unpleasant to see now. Dean’s initial instinct was to grumble something about trust, how he wasn’t Roman or Seth and that he wouldn’t dare be so calloused or cruel towards his friend, but he knew that would have been accusatory and ignorant.

Then it dawned on him that Sami had been through some shit in his own career, and what the forlorn look was a reminder of. Dean had witnessed it himself; not firsthand, but he remembered watching NXT when it was still in its fledgling state and seeing how hard Sami had worked, only to get knocked down by his peers time and time again. The distraught look on Sami’s face when Neville screwed over their match and told him that he couldn’t possibly win the big one. The look of anguish on the night that Kevin debuted and had tossed Sami like a ragdoll. Even look of frustration from the dismissive wave that Roman gave Sami when he rushed out to try to prove that he was worthy of the title, that he was willing to work hard and fight. Nevermind the things that had been said about him in his past life before the WWE, things that Dean had heard from guys in cross-promotions about a wrestler that was too happy, too enthusiastic about what he did, and how apparently that was some kind of offense of the highest order in their industry. 

Guys with titles constantly looked down on guys like Sami, just like they had looked down on Dean.

“Sami.” Dean finally spoke after his pause, the razor’s edge in his tone gone entirely.

“Yeah?” Sami looked up, his hands fidgeting with a scrap piece of paper that he had somehow obtained when Dean was lost in his head.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen over the next...while. Alright?”

“No one can really predict something like that in our field.”

“Right. You’re right. But th’thing is, you’ve been good to me. Y’treated me like an actual person when no one else did, when I was all alone out there. I take it that’s not gonna change.” 

“Of course that won’t.” Sami was matter-of-fact in his response.

“Good. ‘Cause I ain’t gonna treat you any different, either. I promise. You can kick me upside the head again if I have a memory lapse about that, quote me and everything. I won’t get mad. An’ Sami?”

“What Dean?” Sami asked, his smile a bit brighter again.

“Still haven’t gotten the Tag titles yet, an’ our track record as a team is pretty good, if you recall. Maybe you can help me go for my Grand Slam in the future, huh?”

“I’d be honored to. Can we change the name, though? I still don’t like ‘Rough Riders’.”

“Sami Zayn, how dare you make such a suggestion to your WWE World Heavyweight Champion and one half of the undefeated tag team ‘Rough Riders’? Fuckin’ disrespectful, man! Unbelievable.” Dean scoffed, but softened when he caught sight of Sami finally looking at peace. 

Relieved.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to throw out there that under no circumstances do I dislike Roman, nor am I trying to start a "ship war" or whatever, but I *am* writing this from the perspective of a character that gets intensely emotional and doesn't quite know how to process them in a healthy manner. Please take that into account when reading my work.


End file.
